Igniting the Flame
by TASHAx
Summary: Being beautiful and fierce was not enough, she need to belong - she wanted to be remembered. Here is the tale of how Bellatrix Black's flames of insanity were ignited. Finished.


**Igniting the Flame**

She gazed at her reflection in the opulent mirror and saw a woman that was beautiful, vindictive and yet ever so elegant. Her long, glossy hair fell past her shoulders; it was poker straight without any need for charms or potions and always hung with body and vitality. Her lips were painted a dark red, like the centre of a crimson rose, and her large slightly slanted eyes glittered grey and silver from beneath her thick ebony lashes.

Her cheek bones were high and prominent, and her chin was small and pointy. She wore a floor length, black velvet dress which clung to her body. Her shoulders remained bare; the pale skin a stark contrast to the ebony of her gown. Her neck was lithe and graceful and long.

She stood five feet and eight inches from the ground and had a willowy figure, with a small bust and hips. The young seventeen year old was about to enter her final year of education at Hogwarts and would be soon rid of the fools who held her back; she was the middle child. _The unimportant one._ There was no denying that she was the most beautiful of the three siblings yet she was not noticed, not recognised for who she was. That would change.

Andromeda was definitely the oddest out of the sisters, but as she was the eldest it didn't matter. She was responsible, square and could do nothing wrong. Her dark blue-black hair was short and cut into a bob around her small heart shaped face. She was 'attractive' yet there was no real beauty there. Nothing that compared to _her_. In fact compared to _her_, Andromeda was ugly and plain, with no distinguishable features and nothing that could keep you captivated.

Her younger sister - Narcissa - had inherited the Black's fine bone structure, yet her nose was slightly upturned and her eyes glittered blue, not grey like the rest of the Blacks. Narcissa's hair was golden blonde and fell in loose curls down to her waist. She was short and had a petite frame. She was very intelligent but seemed to prefer to act like a know-it-all instead of a cunning Slytherin. However, she was the one all the family 'Awww'ed at. The one everyone loved to come visit and pinch her cheeks even though she was now well into her teenage years and was almost a woman. She had to give it to her, Narcissa could play dumb well.

She had stolen the title of the youngest of the family before the black haired witch had even had it for a year. This caused said dark haired witch to burn with jealousy towards the blonde. Then one day, when she was at the tender age of twelve, it occurred to her that it wasn't Narcissa she should blame but her parents. It was their fault. Why had they not realised they had, had another child only months before conceiving this one.

0x-

Picking up her wand within her long, skilled, fingers she slipped it into the inside pocket of her robe. She threw the hood of her cloak up so that it covered the back of her head, leaving her striking features to be illuminated by the fat, glowing moon.

Walking quietly towards the large, and seemingly deserted, manor the young woman bit her lip slightly. Anxiety surged through her veins but she would not give into the power of it; she would go through with her original plan. She would become someone to remember.

Once reaching the door, the black haired female raised her gloved hand and rapped three times upon the wood. Tingles zoomed up and down her spine, and suppressing a shiver she listened hard to hear if anyone stirred within the grand property. Footsteps could be heard approaching the door. She took a few steps backwards in order to compose herself and waited to be allowed admittance into the house.

A man with his dark brown hair held up in a ponytail opened the door. His features were rugged and handsome, and made the teenager inside of her to melt with lust but her cool, façade portrayed none of it. She noticed too how he observed her every curve and found herself slipping a slight smirk across her lips.

'Ms Black?' he asked formally. She dipped her head once to show that she was indeed whom he was asking for. 'Rodolphus Lestrange.' he introduced. She smiled and brushed past him as he opened the door slightly wider, permitting her to access the house. Before she had gotten any further than the hallway, however, a pair of spidery hand reached out and grasped her by the arm. Swinging her head around, her hood fell down and her hair flew haphazardly across her face. Her grey eyes fell upon a face she recognised.

'Lucius.' she spoke his name in a breathy tone.

'Yes, this is her.' said the man, Lucius, who had his grip on her arm. Rodolphus smirked at him then walked down the hall and through a door. She made to swat away Lucius' hand to follow Lestrange but he laughed at her.

'Dear little vixen, _calm down._' said the man, and with that he yanked her into a room thick with heat from the fire. The sudden temperature change caused her to feel slightly disorientated and thick headed. Lucius had removed her cloak and sat her down on the ground so she was kneeling. She was facing an empty arm chair.

'Really, Lucius don't be so welcoming.' she said, her voice copious with sarcasm. Momentarily she seemed to have forgotten why she was here and had fallen into the trap of playful banter that always commenced between her and Lucius. He had been the year above her at school and had left Hogwarts last year. He had been romantically interested in her until he had been informed he was betrothed to the youngest Black sister, Narcissa. Now he would not dare hold her as he once had for fear of upsetting the marriage arrangement.

'Do be quiet,' he hushed her. He turned on his heel and left her, shutting the door behind him. She stared about; it looked like a family home. There were children's comics scattered over the couch and a pair of thread bear slippers lay beside her; it appeared she was in a Muggle home and the mere thought made her feel sick. _Ugh_, how she hated those lower than her.

0x-

She had been knelt on the floor by the fire for a total of twenty minutes before the door opened again and a tall, pale man with red cat-like eyes entered; Voldemort. She felt herself come to life at the sight of him. Ever since the start of his cleansing of the Wizarding world she had been in awe of him, and now here she was sat before him. She was not worthy of this moment.

Behind him was a line of twenty men, all of which she recognised both from Hogwarts and some of the grand balls the purebloods had hosted. Each had their eyes fixed on her, a hunger of longing apparent in each of their faces. Rodolphus was standing in between Lucius and a man who looked as if he could have been Rodolphus' brother.

As Voldemort approached her she bent her head low so she was bowing at his feet. He smiled down at her and she felt fingers rake through her mane of black hair. He balled up his hand, grabbing a fist full of the silky locks and yanked her face up so her eyes met his. He was challenging her; was she brave enough to stare at him directly?

Not daring to scream from the pain he was causing her scalp she bit her lips hard, but did not allow her eyes to unhook from his stare. She would not back down. She wanted this and was prepared to fight for it.

'Bravery. Loyalty. And fear.' he hissed, 'just what I look for with one of my Death Eaters.'

His long index finger traced the outline of her lips, 'and Beauty too, dear me, you are the useful woman.' Letting go of her she made her eyes avert back to the floor, not daring to look back at him. She was also too afraid to stare at the many blank and reserved faces of his 'Death Eaters'.

The Dark Lord conjured a long thin blade. 'Raise your hand, Woman.' he ordered, his voice was high and bone chilling. Obeying, she felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes. He was going to kill her and she had so wanted this, she had so wanted to die knowing that she had left a lasting mark on the world. However, the knife did not pierce to kill her but merely induce a flesh wound. A delicate slither of blood slipped from her flesh and Voldemort lifted her hand to his lips and licked it from her skin.

'Passion and cruelty; purity and power.'

No further words were spoken, but many hands grabbed at her and raised her from the ground. She wanted to scream and cry out for help but knew she must be silent. They led her upstairs and into a bright room. Light was exuding from many candles. Placing her upon a bed with black satin sheets, they all stepped back except Lucius who remained. His grip on her arm was still tight.

Voldemort sat himself at the end of the bed and nodded at Lucius who set about removing her clothes roughly. There would be bruising on her snow-white skin. She writhed slightly but refused to scream; refused to show any weakness.

She lay naked and vulnerable. The Dark Lord approached her and took up a knife which appeared to be coated in some sort of poison. Slicing the skin of her forearm he began to carve some sort of shape into the flesh. Turning her face away she caught sight of Rodolphus. Her eyes were questioning him; what is he doing?

Casually Rodolphus lifted his left arm and showed her a picture of a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth and, although the pain was so intense she felt blinded, an unadulterated feeling of happiness welled from within her. Acceptance; she was wanted. That mark meant she was a Death Eater; meant she was a part of the fight against impurity. She had ignited the flame that would bring about her long yearned for acceptance.

0x-

It was dawn and she was slipping out from beneath her covers. She stared at the emblem burned into her arm and smiled. Twisted and cruel; here she was, finally where she belonged. People would remember her. She would be known and feared. Her name would go down in history; _Bellatrix Black._


End file.
